


Warm Beer

by orphan_account



Category: Korean Drama
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-19
Updated: 2014-08-19
Packaged: 2018-02-13 21:10:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2165325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Woobin's just comfortable to be around, that's all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Warm Beer

It’s late when the doorbell rings. 

Jongsuk doesn’t know _how_ late, sprawled out on the sofa with his cellphone too far away for his long limbs to reach. But he knows it’s late and he’s _tired_.

He brings an arm over his face, covering his eyes, and hopes that if he pretends to be oblivious to the echoing chime and the existence of his unknown guest, they’ll go away.

But he isn’t allowed that luxury, as the bell rings again -- once, twice. 

Jongsuk whines loudly, and flails his legs in front of him (childishly), before pulling himself off the sofa. His back complains, and his legs feel like lead as he drags his feet across the hardwood floor. He isn’t wearing slippers, and the cold seeps into his skin, making the young actor shiver. He wants nothing more but to sleep for a day or two. But he can’t. Not now. Holding back a yawn, Jongsuk opens the door a fraction. 

It’s Woobin. 

Kim Woobin. Jongsuk’s best friend. His eyes are bright and his smile is wide and his skin seems to be glowing. His long legs are covered in dark denim that matches his leather jacket. His hair is flopping over his eyes (Jongsuk wants to tell him to get a haircut, because he likes Woobin’s eyes -- sharp, but soft when he smiles. But that’s up to the stylist, or the director. Not Jongsuk.) And he’s barefaced; not a trace of makeup, but he looks better, somehow, than he does on screen and on the runway. Everything about him seems so _alive_. (Jongsuk’s jealous.) 

“What to you want?” Jongsuk raises an eyebrow, and Woobin mirrors the action.

“Let me in, you bastard,” he replied with a cheeky grin. And Jongsuk snorts. A year after School 2013, and Woobin still thinks the line is funny (it kind of is). He rolls his eyes and shuffles to the side to let the other in, closing the door as Woobin kicks off his shoes.

“What brings you here,” Jongsuk says, wrapping his arms around his own waist. He’s still cold, now more than before, with the cool fall air Woobin brought in. “To my humble abode?”

“Humble’s one word for it,” Woobin chuckles, looking around (as if he hadn’t already been to Jongsuk’s apartment at least ten times in the past few months). “Can’t a guy drop by for a couple of drinks with his favorite fan?” He’s smug as he brings his arm up, waving a small bag around that Jongsuk hadn’t noticed at first, the plastic rustling noisily. “I mean -- friend.”

Normally, Jongsuk would’ve thrown a cushion at his fellow actor, or stuck his tongue out, but tonight, he just barely has the energy to roll his eyes. Instead, he scoffs softly and flops onto the sofa, his long legs folded one over the other on the coffee table.

“Long day?” Woobin settles into the space next to Jongsuk, and Jongsuk immediately rests his head on Woobin’s shoulder. It’s comfortable. Or well. Woobin’s shoulder is a bit boney at the top, and leather isn’t the most comfortable place of Jongsuk’s cheek, but it’s _warm_. And the way Woobin somehow knows Jongsuk’s moods without him saying anything...That’s comfortable too. Jongsuk doesn’t know any other way to describe it.

“Yeah,” Jongsuk mumbles, and listens to the plastic bag fall to the floor and the soft clang of beer cans. Woobin’s shoulders tighten for a second, and Jongsuk smiles, because he knows his friend is struggling (barely, but still) to open the can. The tension is released, there’s a quiet hiss, and soon enough, there’s a drink between Jongsuk’s hands.

He takes a sip, then lets out a sigh, finding relief in the way one gulp of alcohol is already beginning to unravel him. He turns his head slightly, to watch Woobin (watch the metal on his lips, watch the way his throat moves as the liquid flows down, watch how he licks his lips afterwards). “The beer is too warm.” He complains. Just because he can.

“I ran all the way from the convenience store to your apartment, and this is what I get?” He raises a well-practiced eyebrow, in the same infuriating(ly attractive) manner he did in Heirs. But there’s no malice in his words, they both know that.

“Don’t lie,” Jongsuk says, and takes another swing, and pouts. He doesn’t know why, but something about Woobin and alcohol makes him feel youthful again. Not that he was that old to begin with.

Woobin stares for a moment -- Jongsuk panics for a millisecond -- before breaking out into a grin (Woobin really is a good actor), and Jongsuk feels warm all the way to his toes. Though, he tries to convince himself, that could just be the beer working its magic.

They stay silent for a while, slowly nursing their own drinks, glancing at each other every few minutes, until Jongsuk’s hands refuse to lift and his cheek is squished against Woobin’s bicep (Jongsuk’s lost count of how many cans they’ve gone through, or if just one was enough to get him drowsy).

“You’re such a boring drunk.” He hears Woobin chuckle, and Jongsuk wrinkles his nose with all the strength he has left.

“You’re...One to talk.”

Woobin simply hums as a reply, and Jongsuk watches with hooded eyes as Woobin tosses the empty beer cans into the plastic bag and places is far away enough so that they won’t accidentally be hit by Jongsuk in his sleep. 

He’s so caring, so considerate. Jongsuk doesn’t know anyone else who would do this for him with gentle hands and a smile on his face. “I don’t know what I would do without you, Hyunjoong-ah,” he murmurs, smiling dopily when Woobin blinks in surprise. It isn’t often the other hears his real name these days.

“Cheesy bastard,” Woobin mumbles back, and Jongsuk reaches out slowly and wraps his fingers around the material of Woobin’s jacket.

“Stay.” Here. With me.

And he does.

 . . .

Sleeping in close proximity to Woobin isn’t anything out of the ordinary. He’s done it both on and off screen. It’s completely normal for friends as close as they are to do stuff like that. And Jongsuk likes to feel the warmth of another person beside him.

But when he wakes up with Woobin’s face centimeters away from his own, he doesn’t know how to feel.

He doesn’t know how to feel about Woobin’s jacket covering the both of them, or Woobin’s right arm through over his waist, or Woobin’s ankles tangled with his own. Doesn’t know how to feel about the constant soft puffs of breath against his cheeks, or how from here, he can literally count Woobin’s eyelashes.

All he knows is that this is the best he’s slept in weeks.

Jongsuk’s chest tightens when Woobin parts his lips, and he suddenly finds himself thinking about if Woobin’s a good kisser. For future romance scenes, of course (lies). He doesn’t want his friend to waste time filming due to lack of experience (lies). Jongsuk just hopes that Woobin should be able to blow his future female partner, and the audience away (lies).

Lost in though, Jongsuk doesn’t realize, until it’s too late, that Woobin has shifted, pressing his face to Jongsuk’s chest, practically nuzzling his collarbone. He freezes, and prays that Woobin isn’t woken up by the sound of his pounding heart.

He isn’t sure how long he stays like that, filled with adrenaline and neck stiff, but it feels like an hour before Woobin shifts again, moving back a bit and yawning, his face crinkling up. Despite his though appearance, he’s a really adorable man, Jongsuk muses.

They’re even closer than they were before -- or maybe it just seems like it, with Woobin’s eyes gazing into his own. They’re soft, and filled with an emotion Jongsuk had only seen once while they had filmed together, an emotion Jongsuk knows is mirrored in his own eyes. Woobin had once said it way love, but Jongsuk doesn’t want to think about it.

It scares him.

Woobin bites his lower lip, slowly releasing it before opening his mouth to say something. But Jongsuk doesn’t want to here it, not right now when they’re so intimiately close.

“ _Omo_.” Jongsuk makes his voice high, copying the netizens he’s seen online. “Are they dating?”

And he regrets it the moment the words leave his lips, because the light in Woobin’s eyes dim and the corners of his lips tilt down, just a fraction. Jongsuk swallows, eyes darting left to right, but can’t seem to focus on anything but the man in front of him. “I’m sorry,” he says, after a minute.

Then silence. Silence that goes on for an eternity, before--

“Lee Jongsuk.” Woobin slides his hand up, trailing over Jongsuk’s ribs, his arm, his neck. His thumb presses against Jongsuk’s jaw lightly. “I don’t want to play anymore.”

If his heart wasn’t racing before, it certainly was now. It was beating against his chest, threatening to break out and fall into Woobin’s hands (where it belonged). 

He was afraid. Of ruining their friendship, of the media, of not being everything Woobin had hoped he would be. Afraid that this game of cat and mouse that had been going on for a year (maybe more) was the only real thing they had between each other. That settling down and waking up in each other’s arms every morning would become mundane. That they might become tired of one another one day. That he might break Woobin’s heart, or Woobin might destroy his.

But despite all these fears, the only thing to tumble out of Jongsuk’s lips is a tiny, “Okay.”

And Woobin grins and everything is right in the world.

 


End file.
